Will My Heart Return to White?
by Lamia of the Dark
Summary: Oneshot. AU. Harry treads the dark path in order to defeat Voldemort. Written for Emma for the HPFC June Oneshot Exchange.


**DISCLAIMER: Harry Potter belongs to JK Rowling.**

 **For: Emma (E. Greyjoy)**

 **prompts: Harry/Ron, genre: horror, "So you're going to be the new Dark Lord?"**

~ Will My Heart Return to White? ~

Harry grinned as he watched the husk that had previously contained the bulk of Lord Voldemort's soul crumble into dust. The Dementor that had just consumed the broken soul turned its rotten face toward the Boy Who Lived, but Harry shooed it away with a single wave of his hand.

"Go find your food elsewhere. I'll taste even worse than what you just ate," he intoned.

Whether the creature could understand human speech or not, it obeyed its master's will and drifted away to seek its nourishment elsewhere.

The Dementors were undeniably attracted to Harry, since he had more misery to draw out than most humans of his age did. His body also possessed more soul than any other currently-living human, having carried a piece of Voldemort's soul within his own from the night he'd lost his parents and acquired his scar. He carried a second piece of Voldemort's soul with him in Slytherin's locket, and a third in Ravenclaw's diadem, both of which he wore at all times.

He picked up Voldemort's wand from the former Dark Lord's dust, and pressed the tip to the locket which dangled from his throat, summoning the remaining Death Eaters - those he had not slain - to his side.

"So you're going to be the new Dark Lord?" Lucius Malfoy asked disbelievingly.

"Nah, not really," Harry answered, shrugging. The gesture, coupled with the words and the tone in which he said them, were so _typical teenage boy_ that the assembled remnants of the dark forces just stared at the boy who had slain their leader, unsure how to react.

The Boy Who Lived then let out a maniacal laugh, keeping the Death Eaters' attention on him as his compatriots crept up and slowly infiltrated the crowd.

"Ha ha, look at your faces!" Harry crowed, nearly doubled over with laughter. Knowing that he could not allow the enemy forces to start glancing at each other before the stage was set for their final requiem, he suddenly straightened up and went silent. He had to do something to keep their attention focused solely on him, but what?

 _Ah, I know_...

Taking the former Dark Lord's wand in both hands, the Boy Who Lived snapped the fragile stick in half and threw it down at Lucius's feet.

"As if I'd ever want to be served by any of you," he sneered.

He did not have the pleasure of enjoying their indignant responses, for he had bought the required amount of time, which meant that the hourglass had run dry for the Death Eaters. Swords and daggers flashed as the Order of Ashes mercilessly cut down what remained of Voldemort's followers. When they had all fallen, and been stabbed once more through the hearts just to be extra prudent, only then did the second-in-command dare approach the commander of the Order of Ashes.

"Heya," Ron said, with his usual level of eloquence. "So, it's over, then?"

"Not quite," Harry replied, shedding Slytherin's locket and Ravenclaw's diadem, the Founders' relics falling unceremoniously to the blood-stained earth. "Would you care to do the honors?"

"Of course," Ron replied, unable to suppress a grin as he raised the Sword of Gryffindor and stabbed both of the fallen objects.

"It's over now."

"Huh? What about the last bit?" Ron asked. When his interlocutor did not respond immediately, he added, "You know, the one in you?"

"I think I'll keep it," Harry answered with a straight face. Ron's jaw dropped, and Harry let out a sudden burst of laughter - a real laugh this time, not like his faked insanity from earlier. "Stab me with the sword, you dumbass, and if I don't live through it, I'll see you in about a hundred years, yeah?"

"Yeah."

Ron nodded and, without further ado, ran Harry through with the sword.

Harry had never been sure he'd live through the slaying of the part of Voldemort's soul that dwelled within his own, even less so after he had begun to tread the dark path in his quest to defeat the monster, but as he felt the basilisk-venom-infused metal slide though his viscera, he was certain in that moment that he would survive, because he had never felt more light, more filled with love, than he did after being freed from the last bit of darkness by which he had been possessed.

~end~


End file.
